Companion
by Beta the Second
Summary: Any Doctor "What are you supposed to do when he stands there, with his hand stretched out, ready to show you the universe?" You, potential companion, debate your possible future with the Doctor.


This was originally written after I watched the third series and was updated slightly to include some references to Donna. All three major companions have their nods, let's see if you can spot them.

That being said, insert your own disclaimer here.

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Companion

What are you supposed to do when he stands there, with his hand stretched out, ready to show you the universe? When he stands there ready to show you life, show you death, show you adventure and excitement and love and fear and hope? Are you supposed to suspend life as you know it to join the scariest and most wonderful man in all of time and space?

Are you supposed to abandon your family, your boyfriend, your best friend, your university degree, your job, your future, your life?

Can you really throw all of that away on a whim? Just because of a quick life-threatening escapade with a stranger? Can you really take his hand knowing that you may never have the chance to tell your loved ones good-bye? Knowing that the last time you talk with your loved ones, it will be in a shouting match over this man?

Would you honestly be able to tell your family that you'd be gone for an undetermined amount of time, risking life and limb around every corner? Would you be able to tell your boyfriend that he's been replaced by an alien? Would you be able to explain all the abrupt changes in your lifestyle to your friends with such a flimsy excuse as "traveling?"

Do you honestly believe that those you are close to are that blind? Do you honestly believe they would not get suspicious? Worried? Anxious? Frightened? Do you honestly think they would accept anything at face value?

How thick can you get? And yet, he stands there with his hand outstretched and you know you don't have much time. You know he's got a time machine and you know he can wait, but you also know that he won't wait forever. You know that he is always moving, always running, always fleeing, always hurting. And you know he is capable of moving on. With or without you.

You know you can't stand there for long, debating the undebatable and predicting the unpredictable. You have to decide quickly, but there are all those little things. How long in your own timeline would you be gone? How long in the rest of the universe's timeline are you absent?

How long are you able to run for your life and not call home? Can you really go with him knowing that life is flashing before your eyes on a regular basis, knowing that too many calls in too few days attracts too much suspicion? Can you really survive with only a stranger as your companion? Can you really run off with him with the simple assurance that the others are alive so you should be too?

Can you go with him after concluding (quite logically) that you aren't the first and you won't be the last?

Can you manage knowing that after you leave or you die or whatever happens to you that this most wonderful man will move on and try to forget you? Try to forget the pain, the anguish, the heartbreak, the whatever else he feels in that alien soul of his in an effort to move on?

"But no, he won't forget me," you think to yourself. Can you go, knowing that you start off with nothing more than a bunch of delusions? How old is he? How ancient must a man be before his eyes begin to look like this alien's eyes do? Of course he forgets the more painful parts, "But he remembers the best parts."

How do you know this? How can you be certain that he doesn't take some freakish alien drug and forget you? How can you be certain that he will love you enough not to try banishing all thought of you? How can you be certain he loves at all?

No, logic states he wouldn't have saved you that first time if he didn't care _some_. But was he only doing what anyone else would have done in the situation? Was he simply pushing aside the bystander to let the driver crash and die? Was he only acting like a larger-than-life street-corner-hero would have acted?

Can you really take his hand with this many questions? Can you _really_ go with someone who won't even give a name? Can you really throw everything stable and safe away for death and pain?

And what if something goes wrong? What if this hero dies? How are you supposed to go home? What if you're stuck in the past or the future or wherever else forever? What if you come home in time to see your family die? What if you're the person who makes your family die? What if you create a paradox that swallows life as you know it by being seen by the wrong person? What if something messes up and you end up at your own funeral?

What are you supposed to do then? For that matter, what are you, the young adult from the 21st century, supposed to _do_ in these alien times and alien planets? Do you just stick out like a sore thumb? Do you ignore the staring and whispering and pointing? Do you ignore all of that when you get home (if you survive long enough to go home)? Or are you just so used to all the negative attention that you are immune to it?

Do you want to be immune to it?

Do you want to look at yourself one evening and recount where every scar on your body came from? Do you want to return to a normal life after all the fantastic adventures? Are you able to look in a mirror in half a year, a year, maybe more, maybe less and know that you are who you are because you saw people die? Because you saw families torn apart? Because you saw fire burn that child rather than yourself? Because you saw pain and suffering and you, the companion to the coward who saved the day, walked away from it?

Are you able to walk into that magical police box knowing that you'd do that again and again?

Are you able to stare death in the face, even though it is not your own? Even if it is your own? Are you able to walk to the most fantastic man you've ever met and go with him? Are you able to save the universe at the cost of who you are?

You know the answer . . .

. . . And you know he knows, too.

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There we have it: proof I still exist. A review would be appreciated, if you could spare the time. I appreciate all forms of criticism and am still most curious whether anyone can catch those hints of Donna, Martha, and Rose.


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